Author: annewalk

I spend my days groping for the latch of a closed door – Henry James

this country is a glamour imposed upon the forest

I like the idea of limiting the number of words in a poetry collection in the way a painter limits a palette. A vocabulary made of basic words. Words repeating, showing up in multiple poems, shifting in meaning, standing in for complex thoughts, experiences, memories. Private metaphor. Memoir in code. A spoon, a bird, a […]

I       peered into the meringue        of his mouth stiff peaks         sticky on my tongue *experiment with mixing text at Language is a Virus*

you are lollipop you are sugar kiss you are moss you are the rain has my heaven, and all this is picture to the rainbow *using a variety of tools at Language is a Virus*

A restaurant in an airport parking garage, ornate as a gilded jewelry box. Seats one. There is no need for a maître d’. The cook stands before a single flame, hands you a dish. It’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted and you have no one to describe it to.

I don’t remember how I got the scar on my right thigh shaped like the forced smile I give distant relatives who motion me in for a hug.

hands palm like magician’s coins the bags of day old bread.

I once attended a reading that was novel/engaging. The poet read rapid-fire. All of the images were startling and my synapses fired nonstop. Later, trying to recall the poems, I felt like this raccoon trying to wash cotton candy. 

I dreamt that bees surrounded me and no one would come near. I was convinced I had become their queen. I felt powerful and lonely. It turned out, their real queen had landed on my back and they were, in fact, surrounding her. I was merely lonely.

I make promises I know that I can’t keep, but I make them anyway, believing in a future where they come true and I am vindicated by their happening

We used to write obituaries and submit them to the local paper. Now we post a tweet, upload a Facebook video, sepia filtered, text overlayed, guitar strumming softly in the background. This is still love.